down the memory lane
by PennyOfTheWild
Summary: ["You never grew into your looks, either, unlike me."] Gen, Ryuuken, Isshin, and the girl they loved. Masaki/Isshin, onesided Ryuuken/Masaki.


**A/N: **So, I really hate love triangles. -and I really hope I've been reading the latest chapters wrong: but here's my attempt to reconcile myself with it all. Initially, this was supposed to be an update for my oneshot collection, 'Cacophony': but I am *horrible* with word limits - so here we are. -speaking of 'Cacophony'; it's open to requests. Also: if you like this (or even if you hate it): please tell me so; feedback is what makes a better writer. Moving on, now:

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**down the memory lane**

**Character(s):** Ryuuken, Isshin, Masaki (mentioned)

**Pairings: **Masaki/Isshin, onesided Ryuuken/Masaki

**Word Count: **1,050

**Warnings: **None, really, unless you don't have much of a sweet tooth!

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Ryuuken swears, stubs his toe, and drops the cardboard box he is attempting to maneuver through the living room on his foot. The box promptly explodes, sending knick-knacks skittering all over the floor; beneath the sofas, under the coffee tables – Ryuuken, looking around at the colossal mess, wonders what misdeed karma is punishing him for this time.

(There's always something. He doesn't say good morning to his son (or good evening or afternoon or night), he persists in smoking in the hospital, his bedside manner (brusque, impatient) is intentional …)

He sighs, retrieves another box, gets down on his hands and knees, and starts gathering up the (wooden elephants, picture frames – is that a skull-shaped paperweight?), losing himself in the monotony of the work in a matter of moments. Ryuuken loves monotony; his brain, for some reason, always shuts down, leaving him in relative peace – until, at least:

"Heyy, buddy! What're you up to, spring cleaning?" Isshin Kurosaki's voice, loud and grating and utterly painful to Ryuuken's sensitive eardrums, rudely interrupts his calm. Ryuuken sighs.

Being in the same room as Isshin has always served to sap him of his energy.

"Oh, go away," he says tiredly, not bothering to turn around. Isshin, of course, in blatant disregard for common politeness, ignores him completely, choosing instead to plant himself right across from Ryuuken, leaning backwards against a coffee table.

Ryuuken, looking up (only because it would be bad manners not to), scowls; Isshin is dressed in his shinigami uniform.

"How many times," Ryuuken grumbles, "have I told you never to come here like that? If someone were to look in they'd see me talking to myself."

Isshin leans further back against the table. "Karakura Town is remarkably spiritually aware, Ryuuken," he says, as if explaining a concept to a small child, "so it's more likely they'd see the both of us."

"That," Ryuuken says, "does nothing to remedy the situation; it makes it worse. Now go away, Isshin. I don't have the energy to deal with you."

"You always say that," Isshin tells him, "and hey, you look like you need the company."

"Not yours," Ryuuken mutters; but makes no further protest, and they sit in companionable silence for a while, Ryuuken unceremoniously dumping objects into the carton, Isshin occasionally offering some inane remark ("Hey, those are the wooden elephants I gave you for your birthday,"), and Ryuuken has to admit (but only to himself) that it's easier to be happy – to even feign happiness – when somebody else is there.

"Ah, so _this_ is where it was," Isshin exclaims suddenly, and Ryuuken raises his head to see him holding a dog-eared photo album, the cover a faded green, the corners yellowing.

"My God it looks like it's been through hell and back," Isshin says, turning it over.

Ryuuken sighs, "it's been twenty-five years, Isshin."

The significance of it – that they have known each other for twenty-five years – makes Ryuuken do a double-check.

It's funny how time creeps up on a person.

Isshin flips through the album. It is from their first year of acquaintance – Masaki loved taking photographs – and the sleeves are full of temples Isshin wanted to visit and the various kimonos she tried on at that one shop and Ryuuken, scowling next to some statue or the other because he hated having his picture taken –

Ryuuken does not bother getting up to see. He hasn't looked at the book since it was left in his possession.

"Ryuuken," Isshin says, about five minutes later – and the tone of his voice (subdued) makes Ryuuken look up, a little curl of alarm unraveling itself in his throat.

Isshin stands, crosses over to where Ryuuken is sitting, pushes the box out of the way and kneels, setting the book, open to the last photograph, on the floor.

Ryuuken leans forward, his breath catching. It is faded, and stained, the edges curled upward – the only group picture in the whole album – Masaki in the middle, her arms draped around Isshin, on her left, and Ryuuken, on her right – she's wearing a pale green sundress, her eyes crinkled into a grin, and Isshin's in a pinstriped button-down that was probably cool back in the day but now just looks ridiculous (especially paired with his wink), and Ryuuken, his vest askew and his hair mussed – and he is smiling.

It was a hot summer day, Ryuuken remembers, and there had been a street-stand selling lemonade and Masaki had insisted (and so Ryuuken, with a long-suffering sigh, had handed her his wallet – Isshin had had ice-cream too) and afterward the stall-owner, a stooped little woman had offered to take a picture.

"You're all such lovely things," she had said – and admonished Ryuuken for his grimace – and Isshin had made some joke that Ryuuken can't remember now but it had made him laugh – and that is how the camera caught him, eyes bright with mirth, mouth curled into an uninhibited grin.

"It was Masaki's fault," Ryuuken mumbles, "and I swear my pocket never recovered from that trip."

Isshin has the audacity to ruffle his hair. "Such a stick-in-the-mud," he teases, and then he falls silent, and Ryuuken, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, sees that Isshin's eyebrows have come together, his eyes wistful.

"Maybe," Isshin says, tracing a finger over their smiles, "she would have been better off, had she married you."

Ryuuken is not sure what to say to this.

"I came up short in every way," Isshin continues, "I was a sorry excuse for a captain, not much better as a husband – and I'm screwing up being a father – "

"You never grew into your looks either, unlike me," Ryuuken interrupts him suddenly, in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, and Isshin stops, looks at him for a moment, and bursts into laughter – and soon he is bent over double, clutching his middle, and Ryuuken is no longer sure if he's laughing or crying or both.

In a valiant effort to fulfill filial duty, Ryuuken awkwardly pats Isshin on the back.

"Regardless," Ryuuken says when quiet has once again descended on the room, "she was happy, Isshin."

Isshin tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. "I hope so," he says, "I really hope so."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading.**


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